Blood of Dreams

So I met her again today. She says she's got a new part in this TV thing. She was happy too and smiled much as she talked. Then slowly the conversation shifted to some other things... some subtle drops of her gaze as she went on gave me a feeling. I quite could not catch what it was. I don't think I caught on to anything at all for some passage of time. It was as if a feeling bubble had burst open somewhere within me... something that till then had been steadily growing but had been too transparent for me to see... what an irony! It only became apparent when it could not be contained any longer and burst open on to my conscious from the sub-conscious.
And then, I saw it. I saw it for a moment but it could not be mistaken... like the way lightning illuminates everything in a black dark night... and then you are blind again. But you know what you saw. I saw her soul.
It was empty. It was heavy. It had makeup on it. To hide the real thing... from the mirror every morning I guess. I asked her how she was... and she laughed at me saying silly you already asked me that. She looked at me laughing and stopped dead. She looked at me and said... 'What?'. I said... 'How are you... really?'. She knew. I knew. And for some seconds we went numb. Almost like her soul could just have been lying besides the napkin and coffee cups on the table. Just another thing to look at.
Then, survival took over. I could taste the restlessness and the misery around her. I could touch the mad rush of thoughts in her mind... telling her to take control. To stop it. Not go any further... how its never of any use to go down this path. We've all sold our souls and what we've got back in bargain is too important to let go of.
So I told her about my job change and the moment passed. I chose not to speak of the loneliness. Or she of how meaningless it all is at the end of all and everything. Beneath the spoken words were layers of sentiment of paralysis. Of this reckless inaction. Morbid darkness of our very human existence usurped by this pretence of civilisation. Clones of patterns of approval everywhere.
May be then... I should be happy about the fact that I find it so hard to fit in. That for days I cannot relate to nothing or nobody around me. Makes it all a little less violent for some time.